Sacrifice
by 0tree0
Summary: It so happens that a cup of tea, and an unexpected banishing spell, can heal many wounds. Sirius/Hermione, AGE GAP, AU


**A/N: I found a snippet of this in a file, lost in the ether of my computer from years ago, and found I couldn't not finish it. This has not seen the care of a BETA, so please be kind! Constructive feedback is always welcome. **

**WARNING: Age gap, if the flavour offends, please try another pot. **

**Initially set around six months after the battle of Hogwarts, Sirius did not die at the Department of Mysteries, and Hermione is dealing with the grief of losing her parents, whether this was because she was unable to reverse the memory spell, or because they died despite her efforts, is left fairly open to interpretation. All other events are the same, unless otherwise specified.**

**Please enjoy! **

**0tree0**

Sacrifice, Sirius thought if anyone knew what that meant, she did. It was one of the reasons he felt so drawn to her, despite the war, despite all of the suffering. Sacrifice was willing, it was a choice, and it left scars which did not live on the skin, but rather marred the soul instead. His soul was hideous he sometimes thought, so crossed and covered with imperfections and blemishes; he wonders there is any left at all.

He had sacrificed trust for revenge, sanity for destruction, he had given everything at some point or another.

She looked at him sometimes, like she wanted her eyes to say what she could not, to ask the questions she still couldn't form. She wants to know if it gets better, he knows; he sometimes avoids her just to pretend that the answer isn't: no, not now, not ever. She must learn to bear those burdens alone, like he did, it is a kindness in a fashion, the sooner she can bear it alone, the sooner she can move on. It is the only kindness he feels he can still give, because even if he had wanted to help further, he truly believes he wouldn't remember how.

She catches his eye again and the questions are the same, but there is something else, understanding? He can't place it, but then he doesn't really try, better to forget he thinks.

He is in the library the next time he sees her, he thought she had gone to bed.

'You've been avoiding me.' it isn't a question.

He sighs, so this is it then. 'It's better, trust me.'

'Than what, talking to me?' she snips.

'No.' he can't think of anything else to say.

He hears her footsteps and then feels the sofa sink beside him.

'I thought you knew what it was like. At the end you…' her voice is breathy and halting, as though she is trying to hold back tears.

He closes his eyes, he remembers.

He remembers chasm that had opened up inside him when he had learned that Regulus was dead, he remembers the weeks that passed unmarked afterwards, and then the anger that had consumed him.

He looks at her and sees the pain and bitterness concealed by the soft amber pools of her eyes and feels the husk of his own heart stir.

She is too young for any of this he thinks, too sweet and too kind. This wasn't supposed to be how it ended.

Her gaze is unfaltering, though her eyes are rimmed red, and he forgets then the promise he made to himself, to spare her, to help her learn to bear this alone and his hand twitches.

She swallows a lump in her throat and he caves, reaching out to her and taking one of her hands in his.

He opens his mouth to say something stupid like 'It will be ok.' or 'It will get easier.'

She gets there first and the feeling of her mouth on his is suddenly the beginning and the end of his own finite world.

He knows why, she wants to feel something besides the pain, and anger, so he lets climb into his lap and tangle her hands in his hair, grazing her teeth over his lip as she kisses him desperately. He tastes the salt of tears and it takes him a few moments to realise they are his, not hers. He lets her take whatever she needs, because in truth, he wants to feel something else too.

ooo

The isn't sure how long its been since he was alone with her, about two weeks perhaps? She looks a little calmer, but no less haunted.

For a moment nothing has changed, and he wonders if he imagined the heat of her body against his, the small bruises she'd left on his biceps, as she'd clung to him. When she meets his gaze though, he knows she's thinking of the way their hearts had pounded together as the library door had opened, and Molly Weasley had entered, half turned back to the corridor behind shouting that she'd only be a minute, she'd left her knitting on sofa.

He had blinked, and then without much of a second thought, apparated them to the attic.

They'd landed in an unceremonious heap on the dusty floor, and the whatever was happening had passed. They'd got to their feet and dusted themselves off, before standing awkwardly facing each other. She'd nodded, he'd shrugged and they'd gone their separate ways.

This time they avoided one another, and he had thought this was probably for the best.

So why now, both of them standing at opposite ends of the first-floor landing, her eyes boring into his, did he suddenly want her.

She had apparently been thinking something similar, and strode towards him with purpose, in the time it had taken him to process this, he was already moving towards her with a similar desperation. He did not try to say anything stupid this time, but he was grateful she yanked the front of his shirt to bring his face down to hers, and sealed his lips for him anyway, just to be sure.

As if someone had pressed fast-forward, he realised, without him really knowing how it had happened, that they were in the room she shared with Ginny, and had her pinned to a wall covered in soft blue, peeling wallpaper, next to the baroque-esque wardrobe opposite the bed. His hand was fisted in her wild mane of hair, and his right thigh was pressed between hers. Her hands remained firmly wrapped in the lapels of his shirt, holding him tightly too her, their mouths fought each-other, for what he didn't know, but he fought like he did, and it was worth winning.

One of her hands somehow ended up with a firm grip on his left buttock, and his right was greedily exploring the warm skin of her abdomen under her t-shirt when they heard footsteps approaching the door.

'Hermione, dinner is ready,' Ginny called.

Taking a shuddering breath, he stepped back from her, leaving her looking a little rumpled, and with an apologetic, twisted half-smile, apparated away.

He didn't go down to dinner that evening.

ooo

The six months that followed passed in a blur for Sirius, the Weasleys had re-built the burrow, Harry had moved in, though he suspected he'd move in with Ginny soon, and he'd found a quiet sense of purpose again. Remus might be gone, but Teddy wasn't, he had thrown himself into doing as much as he could for the little boy, and in getting to know his godson properly, not as an echo of James, but for himself.

The house looked better, still not great, but better, Molly had made sure of that, whilst the Weasley's had lived with him. Molly had also taken it upon herself to bury the hatchet, in gratitude for his letting her family stay so they could still be together, and he suspected in part, as a distraction from the losses that lingered over all of them. As a result of this newfound peace, he found himself a houseguest at the Burrow Mark Two, most weeks.

Hermione had by this time begun working at the Ministry of Magic, in a new department set up to design and implement the re-education of the wizarding world about muggles, to 'Prevent a Repetition of the Mistakes of the Past', the Daily Prophet had proclaimed. He hadn't seen or spoken to her much since then, but he had been fed updates by Harry and everyone else who passed through.

A year and a week to the day she'd lost them, he found her sitting in the kitchen, staring into the fire, a cup of untouched tea, that he suspected was cold, clutched in her hands.

She didn't acknowledge him when he paused at the door, taking her in.

She finally looked at him when he replaced the mug in her hands with a fresh one, and sat in the chair beside hers.

He felt her gaze on him, but studiously avoided meeting it, and after a few moments passed, she returned to her fire-watching.

How long they sat there, he wasn't sure, but he was gratified that when he came back to himself, he found she'd drunk her tea this time.

'You always did know just what to say,' She remarked.

When he looked over to her, she was watching him, a hint of a smile on her face, heart-wrenchingly sad, but no longer bitter.

He found himself smiling back, and it felt easier than it had in a long time.

He watched her get up and place her mug on the low, well-scrubbed kitchen table, and then pad barefoot softly back towards him, he wanted to say he didn't notice the gentle sway of her hips as she approached, but he knew it would be a lie.

She stood in front of him, and regarded him openly. He felt his heart begin to beat faster, and his breath felt heavier. He should leave, now. There was not a soul in the house to interrupt them tonight, he suspected that she knew this. He should get up, say goodnight and walk out of the door.

Hermione stepped closer still and he could smell her perfume, she took another step closer, reaching up and caressing his brow with her finger tips.

He should stop this, it wouldn't solve anything, it wouldn't bring anyone back, and he should…

He stood up, there was scarcely half a foot between them.

He ought to leave now, but he already knew it was no longer a choice.

'You should stop thinking so much, and kiss me,' she told him.

He took her small delicate chin in his large calloused hands, and obliged, because hadn't that been how it had always worked?

This time he apparated them to the dark warmth of his bedroom together, his mouth hot on hers, her hands yanking his shirt from his trousers with an eagerness that set his blood on fire. He heard buttons clattering on the wood of the floor, and had no idea whether they were his or hers, his own hands tugging at her blouse. She kissed him with a bruising intensity and he heard her groan as he took her bottom lip between his teeth, no doubt recalling, as he was, the first time she'd done the same to him. He moved to press hot kisses down her neck, as she fumbled with the buckle of his belt.

A small part of him, the last vestiges of his decency he imagined, forced him to pause here, she halted after a moment too and looked up at him with confusion. He swallowed.

'Hermione,' he stated, unable to find any other words to explain himself. He needed to know she knew what she was doing, that she wasn't going to regret this, but the words eluded him.

There combined with the sadness that was always in there in her eyes these days, he saw desire, and understanding, and something else entirely.

'I want this Sirius,' she murmured, leaning in and kissing him softly, far more tenderly than she'd ever kissed him before.

Her lips on his and the sound of his name on them was all he needed, he allowed himself to draw her to him, and between the two of them, they rid themselves of their remaining clothing and tumbled at last into bed.

ooo

He woke the next day and in the hazy moments between sleeping and waking tried to brace himself for the empty space he knew was waiting next to him.

As it happened the space was empty, but only because Hermione was almost entirely occupying his side of the bed, her right arm and leg flung over his body, her head tucked into his shoulder, and her hair tickling his chest.

After a long moment of laying as still as possible, he decided at length to make the most of the situation. He needed the bathroom with increasing urgency, and suspected he wouldn't be able to move her without waking her, so instead gathered her up in his arms, buried his nose in her hair, and took in as much of her as he could, before she woke up and inevitably left him.

She began to stir and tightened her grip on him as she did. When she at last opened her eyes, she blinked up at him, as if a little surprised to see him. He tensed, expecting her to wriggle free and wish him well before continuing on her way. She did not, instead she smiled slowly and luxuriously before stretching and then snuggling back against him, still smiling serenely and regarding him with satisfaction.

To say he was confused was a profound understatement. Hadn't she just wanted a distraction? Hadn't he simply taken advantage of what she offered? Why was she still here, smiling at him?

His revive was broken by the now urgent need to relieve himself.

'I really need to get to the bathroom love,' he broke the silence at last, the second half of what he wished to say 'Will you still be here when I get back?' got lost on its way out of his mouth.

She raised an eyebrow and with a smirk, and a peck on his chest, she rolled off him, allowing him to rise.

He belatedly realised that there wasn't anything besides the sheets to cover himself with, in immediate proximity, and his wand was somewhere in the pile of his trousers and her skirt. Deciding that he was probably not up to wandless magic at that precise moment, he threw caution to the wind and made his retreat stark naked. He caught her appraising look as he closed the door to the ensuite, and thought perhaps he needn't have worried.

When he'd finished in the bathroom, and found a robe he'd left hanging on the back of the door to throw on, he braced himself and headed back to the bedroom.

Hermione was sitting on the bed, in what appeared to be his shirt and her underwear. He felt something lurch in his chest, and decided he must be having a heart-attack, but thought he'd keep that to himself.

She looked up at him as he moved a little uncertainly back towards the bed.

'I think one of us must have banished my blouse last night, I can't find it anywhere.'

He stood at the foot and thought of a dozen things he wanted to say, but they all abandoned him as quickly as they appeared.

Her gaze shifted from his face to his shoulders, and traced the fall of his robe to his sternum and then flicked back to his face, now dark and heady.

He felt his own body stir as she watched him, and quite without his instruction, move towards her, kneeling on the bed and reaching for her. She was a moment behind him, and then was grasping for him just as eagerly.

They were not as rushed and needy the second time, but it still took restraint for him not to devour her. Every small keen in her throat as he moved inside her, every groan as he tugged her head back to make love to her neck drove him to distraction. He muffled her shout as angled himself deeper, and took her to the brink again and again, before she pushed him back into the mattress and dragged him into oblivion with her.

God only knows how much time passed before he could drag his eyes open again, but when he did come to himself, he found her once more draped over him, their legs intertwined.

After a few moments, she shifted and propped her chin up on his chest to regard him through hooded eyes.

Without a second thought he reached up and pushed her hair back from her face, hand lingering on her cheek. The soft kiss she pressed into his palm he reasoned, would have undone many better men than him.

'I want you,' she told him.

There was no lust in her eyes this time, and he was lost to her.


End file.
